


Fluff as Light as the Clouds

by godtiermeme



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Comedy, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Post-Canon, Responsible Irresponsible Alcohol Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: This is literally just going to be fluff. It’s all fluff. It’s the continuation of one of the most satisfying and happy endings in all of anime and animation history and I will have exactly ZERO angst, because there’s been more than enough of that. Each chapter will contain a summary of the happenings, in the presumptuous and annoying style of Victor Hugo. Don't take this fic too seriously, because it's just me giving these wonderful characters what they deserve.I wrote this summary at 12:30 AM. I will not change it.





	Fluff as Light as the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> A NOT ACTUALLY ASKED FAQ  
> “Wow! Holy fuck! DaveKat girl isn’t writing DaveKat!?”  
> Calm your tits I’m still writing DaveKat.
> 
> “Oh my god you said ‘fuck’!”  
> I’m a Homestuck writer first and a Fullmetal Alchemist writer second. Sue me.
> 
> “What the fuck is with your narration style!?”  
> Andrew Hussie and Lemony Snicket’s writing styles had a baby and it’s my writing style.
> 
> “Is Edward Elric a good Dad?”  
> EDWARD ELRIC IS THE BEST DAD HOW DARE YOU!?
> 
> “Where’s the angst?”  
> Not here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Or... The Tumultuous and Intriguing Occurrences which both Coincide with and Surround the Event that is the Wedding of Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell, and all Associated Consequences and Hijinks** and a song to get you in the mood to read this clusterfuck, **[The Mosquito's Parade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95_iWba8wzA).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i have no beta reader and suck at checking my own writing. if you see any glaring typos or whatever, let me know. ♥

_Edward and Winry Elric-Rockbell invite you to attend the most badass wedding of the century_  
_please don’t print that my husband is an idiot_  
_no print it it’ll make the best wedding invitation of the century  
_shut up Edward__

_The wedding will be held on Halloween 1917 at the Rockbell Automail store._

_Dress code is casual._

Alphonse Elric stares at the invitation with a look of pure confusion. Even with all his amassed knowledge, he can’t figure it out. Clearly, this had to be a misprint. But, before wasting money on a call from Xing to Amnestris, he takes it to someone who has become a trusted confidante.

After all, this night have just been a single misprint.

And, upon seeing the document, while still dressed in his finest Imperial robes and sitting upon the Imperial throne, Ling bursts out laughing. “Your brother fed me a shoe, and now he sent us all the shittiest wedding invitation the world has ever known! The Elrics just keep getting better and better, don’t they?”

Seeing as this commentary answered exactly zero questions, Alphonse reluctantly called his brother.

When questioned, Ed offered a simple response. “Oh? Those things? Winry and I were arguing over the phone about what they should say. The printing shop just printed everything we said. We already spent too much on the damn invites, so we just sent these. I think they’re unique, don’t you?”

Alphonse had no response to this commentary beyond a muttered, “Sure, whatever you say, brother,” before hanging up.

* * *

**27 October 1917**

“Alphonse, I’m literally begging you not to throw me a bachelor party.” Edward Elric grovels before his little brother as he’s never groveled before. Not once in his memory can he find an example of such gregarious groveling, not even after apologizing to Al after their failed transmutation. After all, this is a serious issue.

Of course, Al doesn’t seem to see it the same way. “Why not?” He asks, filled with innocence, “It’s part of the whole wedding package. Your last night as a free man, or... whatever all that nonsense is. Ling has even volunteered to ride the express train to be a stripper for free!”

“WHO HAS DONE WHAT, NOW!?” Ed squeaks. His normally fair face has turned a vibrant pink. Golden eyes are now as wide as the Grand Canyon. (Or, at least, they _would_ be if the Grand Canyon was in Amnestris.) “Oh! Oh no! No! No! No! No! If you do this, whatever _that_ is will happen, and we all know who will come to crash the party, _even though he wouldn’t be fucking invited!_ ”

Al seems to understand the implications.

The two brothers, in unison, state at one another with a look of sheer terror as they both whisper, in hushed tones, lest they be heard, “Mustang.”

“I heard he was his own stripper at his bachelor party!” Al gasps, still quiet.

“I heard that everything at his bachelor party was a dick joke,” Ed counters.

And, while the tales of Mustang’s one night ride through Amnestris, decked in only the finest of phallic imagery, are often greatly exaggerated, they really aren’t too far off.

“Maybe if we...” Alphonse’s well-intended comment is interrupted by the sound of the door to the private pub stall they’re in slamming open.

“IT’S THE BACHELOR HMSELF!” Declares a very, very enthusiastic raven-haired idiot. “Edward, kid, you finally did it! You’re getting married.” A sniffle. A single, dramatic tear. “Just makes me so goddamned proud.”

“How the fuck did you know we were here!?” Ed demands.

Roy smirks. “You kids always forget who Madame Christmas was. The girls here? They’re my sisters. Oh, I brought a gift.” At this point, Roy reaches into the bag over his shoulder. He pulled out a somewhat wrinkled, but still very-much-penis-shaped hat, and places it on Ed’s head like the finest of crowns. “There, it even makes you look taller!”

“I’m only a few inches short than you, now, you pompous bastard!” Ed begins.

“Oh, shut up, Elric, you’ll ruin the hat. Oh, I called Ling. He’ll be here in the next few hours. I’ve also invited a few guests.”

Again, the brothers speak in terrified unison. “A few...?”

Roy lists them off, beginning by counting them on his fingers, but ultimately quitting once it exceeds their meager capacity. “Ling, Zampano, Jerso, Brosh, Falman, Havoc, Fuery, Heinkel, Darius, Yoki, Hawkeye—”

“THAT’S NOT A FEW, MUSTANG!” Ed counters.

Simultaneous, Alphonse offers up a quiet, “Your wife is coming?”

“She has to look out for her boys, now, doesn’t she?” This is said with the most sinister of smiles.

“W-Well what about Winry? Wouldn’t Hawkeye want to be at the bachelorette party!?” Ed volunteers.

Roy’s smile grows wider. “She asked Winry for permission to abdicate that prestigious post just for you two.”

Both Elric brothers stare at one another with what can only be described as pure fear, and the second most frat-boy style bachelor party in Amnestrian history commences.

 

Elsewhere, a woman everyone agrees will soon be part of the Elric family, anyhow, Lan Fan, heads a much tamer party. She, as well as a few other guests, sit in the middle of the Rockbell family home's living room. The walls are covered in yonic symbols, which Winry decreed were the foil for the standard bachelor party's phallic iconography, and a paper-mâché breast hat is set firmly upon the head of the soon-to-be-bride. It should be noted that this hat was lovingly made by another of the soon-to-be-Elrics, young Mei Chang, who is also braiding Winry's hair at this moment in time.

“So,” muses Winry, a pensive smirk spread across her features, “What do you think the boys are up to right now? Ed said he didn't want a bachelor party, since Mustang would obviously just barge in, unwanted.”

“Oh. Oops.” All eye turn to the short-haired blonde, Gracia, who is now covering her own smirk with her hand. “Oh, dear... Ed  _didn't_ want a bachelor party?”

Giggles spread through the crowd.

“Not particularly. Why?” Though she's sure she knows the answer, Winry asks the question, regardless.

“I  _might_ have tipped off President Mustang...” admits Gracia.

The giggles turn to an uproar of laughter.

“So  _you're_ the one responsible for that phone call!?” asks Sheska, a brunette halfway caught between adjusting her glasses, gasping for air, and cackling manically.

“You told me it was just a customer who didn't get the wedding shutdown notice!” Despite her indignant display, complete with folded arms and a wagging finger, Winry is still grinning. “Oh, jeeze, was it—?”

“ _Yeeeeah_ ,” Sheska draws out the vowel. “That was Alphonse begging for his life.”

From where she sits, hopefully eyeing the cupcakes, (and before which a small sign, bearing the notice, ‘Do not eat until dessert, please!’ is set) Maria Ross snickers. As everyone at the party, but, perhaps, not every reading, would know, her husband, Denny Brosh, was an attendee of the infamous Night of Mustang's Ride. (And, yes, the bachelor party was, indeed, so bad that it had to have its own strange moniker applied to it. While readers might know of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, the citizens of Amnestris are now under attack by the second round of the Midnight (joy) Ride of Now-President Mustang. Not that anything could really muddy their opinion of the man; he gave them voting rights and offered them countless numbers of innovative social reforms. They will, however, be sharing a desperate sigh in the morning.) “Let me guess, Mustang is ‘starting them off easy’?”

“Mhm.”

Ross's smile, like that of everyone else's, seems to grow impossibly wider. The laughter she's trying to hold back is starting to show in her voice. “He's taking them bar-crashing,” she announces.

“Don't you mean bar-hopping, ma'am?” asks Mei, now pausing her work on Winry's hair. While the dog licking her bare feet wasn't enough to halt her dutiful progress, this juicy gossip certainly is. “Or have I misheard the saying?”

“Oh,” Now, Maria Ross laughs. Between her laughs, she explains, “You're right. It  _is_ bar-hopping. But, Roy? No, that asshole goes bar- _crashing_. Winry, you can be assured that your soon-to-be dear husband will never touch another high-proof cinnamon whisky again! Oh, and Alphonse said your brother handles alcohol like he handles milk. It doesn't help that Roy is having a contest with him. And we all know how Roy and Ed handle contests.”

“You know, I get that we should all be enjoying a lovely women's day, but I think this is too hilarious to stop talking about,” says Winry. “Keep going.”

Sheska nods with renewed vigor. There's a spark in her eyes, one that's usually only there when she finds some good books, and she continues her story. “You're not far off, but, see there's this Xingese tradition—”

“Oh no...” Mei mutters. “The...”

“THE BAIJU!” Winry, at this point, in the full glory of her alcohol tolerance, which is the exact antithesis of her fiancé's, grabs the bottle Mei had brought her. By now, it's empty. As the tradition states, it was sealed the day she was born. Lan Fan also brought a bottle, but that one is now on the shelf. After all, Winry must be frugal. Ed split the remainder of his alchemist's funds between Gracia, Alphonse, home repairs, and (much to everyone's chagrin) a shiny new car. This is likely the only time the pair will ever come into possession of such top shelf luxury again, barring any future visits to Xing. But, returning to the topic at hand... “OH MY GOD! LING GAVE HIM BAIJU!”

“Don't forget the cinnamon whisky shots!” chirps Sheska.

Despite her initial panic, Winry calms down after a few moments of shushing from Mei. A sigh escapes her, and a now-weary, slight smile replaces her expression of fear. “You know what? At the very least, Mustang won't let Ed get alcohol poisoning. I'm sure they're fine.”

Now, as if on cue, Ross, who had gone to fetch some more water from the kitchen, returns, phone in hand. “Call for you, dear,” she passes the phone to Winry.

“Oh! Thank you!” Taking the phone into her hand, Winry clears her throat. “Hello! This is the Rockbell Automail Store! I'm sorry, but we're not currently open, due to my impending wed—”

“OH MY FUCKING  _GOOOOD_ YOU'RE  _CLOOOOOSED_!?” sobs a familiar voice. It is followed by many wet hiccups and sniffles. “Oh. But I have to talk to my sweet Winry. My Winnie. Oh, shit! Damn! Fuck! How ‘m I gonna talk to her—” a hiccup “—if the store is  _closed_!?”

Winry sighs. She turns to the gathered crowd in her home. “I'm sorry, I have to take this call from my  _absolute dumbass husband_ who  _can't hold his alcohol_.” She returns her attentions to the phone. After breathing out her frustrations, using one of Mei's deep breathing techniques, she responds in the sweetest voice she can muster. “Ed, dear, I'm Winry. You're talking to Winry.”

“Huh?” There's a literal minute of silence from Ed's side. Worry is starting to creep into Winry's mind, only for him to speak again, confirming he hasn't dropped dead of alcohol poisoning. “B-but... How can  _you_ be Winry if's the store's closed.” Another sob. “Oooooh! I just want to tell my darling how much I  _looove her_!!!!! Winry, where are you!?” Frantic hushing can be heard in the background. Even from the other side of the phone, Winry can picture him—one hand holding the phone, while the other clutches dramatically at his jacket. The gross sobbing continues.

A slow blink. Another sigh. Winry rolls her eyes. Her reaction is split cleanly between being absolutely over-the-top amused at this development, and ready to club both Roy Mustang and Ling Yao over the head with the heaviest wrench she owns. “Edward, honey, I'm hanging up, now. I'm having my bachelorette party, remember?”

“OH, MY POOR WINRY, WHERE  _IS_ SHE!?” Ed's sobs stop the minute Winry hangs up.

“Yeah,” Maria Ross snickers, “I'm sure he's fine.”

* * *

**28 October 1917**

It's midnight. Despite the pleasant weather, normally open windows are shuttered closed in the city, and for a damned good reason.

On its iron-reinforced wheels (invented by none other than Jean Havoc), a limousine, packed with a boisterous bachelor party, rumbles down the cobblestone streets of Amnestris. The fall air is crisp and cool, and leaves from the ornamental pears, which line these very streets, flutter gently in the breeze.

Juxtaposing this are the exuberant shouts from within the vehicle, which carry out, through its opened “sunroof”. It should be noted that we refer to sunroof within quotations, as it is not actually a sunroof. Rather, this is a very, very large hole, carved into the roof of the car by the automail foot of Edward Elric, as he fell over, shocked, when Ling Yao opened his ceremonial robes to reveal that he'd been walking around in nothing but black underwear all night. Out of the umpteen people crammed into this vessel of transportation, only three aren't impossibly inebriated: Zampano, Kain Fuery and Sig Curtis. (Breaking the chain of narrative command, it should be noted that Alphonse Elric was absolutely floored by how poorly Armstrong handled his booze. Two beers and one of the largest men he's ever met was rolling on the floor like a log down a cartoon hill.)

“Fuck, man,” hiccups a teary-eyed Vato Falman, “This guy just doesn't  _stop_. It's beautiful!”

True to form, despite starting at least an hour ago, volunteer stripper, Ling Yao, is still dancing like it's nobody's business. His body undulates with an unnerving amount of grace, yet the control he exhibits over it betrays his martial arts training.

Roy Mustang, now laying horizontally across the laps of Fuery, Havoc, and Sig Curtis, laughs. “The Phoenix Emperor of Xing, everyone!”

Ed, now so thoroughly drunk that he will most definitely not remember tonight, suddenly stands, sticking his upper body through his newly minted sunroof (and, indeed, far in the future, the people of Amnestris will come to know Edward Elric as a man who punched god in the face and invented the concept of sunroofs). This action prompts those closest to him—namely, Al, Zampano, and Fuery—to wildly grab at his ankles. “THIS IS THE BEST PARTY  _EVER!”_ he declares, waving his arms in the air. Then, a sudden pause. He burps, and looks down, to the people in the limo. “Uh... Who's getting married?”

“FULLMETAL!” Roy Mustang shouts.

“I'mma tellin’ Winners,” sings Al.

The surprise (and two hours late) guest of the event, Scar, growls. “I ceased my important reconstruction work in my beloved country to watch one stupid kid get married. Brother would be proud. I am not.”

* * *

**31 October 1917 - 6:30 PM**

In wild contrast to the absolutely batshit events that conspired during (what is to be) the (first) Elric bachelor party, the wedding ceremony is nothing but touching and formal. The vows are said, in accordance with Ed's view, which can be aptly, but not concisely described as doesn't-believe-in-god-despite-literally-punching-god-in-the-face-a-scant-two-years-ago.

Both parties are dressed plainly and on par with their farming village surroundings. Ed wears slacks, a light brown jacket, and a golden vest (and, despite his insistence otherwise, he did, indeed, steal said vest from his father's yet-to-be-emptied wardrobe). Winry wears a white dress that is, while gorgeous on her, neither excessively long nor cumbersome. Their rings are made of materials salvaged from the scraps of Ed's automail arm, and not a single dry eye can be found in the unexpectedly large crowd. (Except for Scar, who is still salty about Ed puking on him at the end of the bachelor party. Nonetheless, the old curmudgeon is still moved, just not to tears.)

The bouquet, with its flowers lovingly woven into the shape of a wrench by Gracia and Alecia, is not thrown. Rather, after photos are taken, and before the party begins, the bride, groom, and the groom's brother quietly slip away. They take it to the nearby cemetery, where it is placed on the grave of Trisha and Hohenheim. In the midst of this joyous day, there is a moment of quiet retrospective. A few words are said, and a quiet understanding between three friends is had.

Nearby, a crow caws. A single, vibrant red leaf falls, settling atop the bouquet, and the trio slips back to the celebration.

As they return, a familiar face finds them. Roy Mustang, stubbornly dressed in a now-dust-and-grass-and-mud-covered black three-piece suit, offers a wide grin. It's a beaming smile, filled with pride and excitement for the new couple. “And there they are! The bride and groom! How's it feel to be sober again, Fullmetal?”

Ed offers a nervous laugh. “I'm not Fullmetal anymore, remember,  _Mr. President_?” he growls the last two words, though it's done affectionately. “And, no thanks to your dumbass leadership, I am now perfectly sober!”

“Well, the two-hundred liter barrel of Amnestrian Moonshine over there says otherwise.” A gloved hand gestures towards exactly what has been described. The barrel is propped up on a table, tapped, and is currently being pillaged by the Old Mustang Crew, as they are now called. Vato Falman seems particularly eager to get some of the white lightning, as he's busy wrestling Breta and Havoc for a chance at the tap. In the mean time, Feury has simply slipped in, and is now helping himself to some. “You can thank me later. Or, rather, thanks the Christmas girls, eh?”

“We'll be sure to send them a card,” Winry smiles.

“Great!” Roy turns, only to pause before walking away. He looks back, over his shoulder, and makes on last comment, “Oh, and Fullmetal?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Glad to see you remembered who you're marrying!” As a slight scowl crosses Winry's face, a wide grin spreads across Roy's. He offers a laugh and a wave. “Enjoy the party, Fullmetal!”

 

**6:45 PM**

As the open banquet, donated and provided by the Amnestrian Military as a gift of goodwill, (and not-really-free-but-obviously-good-publicity) the speeches begin. Pinako is the first. She mixes her usual whit with heartfelt commentary, telling Ed that she has always considered him a son, and that he is now legally related to her. She concludes, as everyone fully expects, with a toast.

After this, standing in as Ed's father, Roy speaks. His commentary has the crowd in stitches. “Edward Elric,” he begins, his tone somber, “Is the most stubborn little twerp I've ever met.”

“I grew several inches after getting my body back, thank you very much,” Ed grumbles, arms folded across his chest. He crosses one leg over the other, and leans back in his seat.

Winry snickers.

“But, unfortunately, he also saved my ass and helped make me president, so I guess I can't be too pissed at him. He's a good kid, as much as I hate to say it, and I'm glad to see him finally getting his shit together. Stay out of jail, and I think we'll never have to see each other again, Fullmetal.” He smirks, raises his glass, and sits.

The crowd cheers, with laughter mixed in, as Alphonse speaks.

Unlike Pinako, and, certainly, unlike Roy, his commentary is heartfelt. He speaks candidly, and sniffles ripple through the crowd like waves. He ends with a smile, a raised glass, and the promise that, regardless of how much distance separates them—be it a sentient little being of light, who steals children's bodies for shits and giggles, or a dessert between Xing and Amnestris—they will always be brothers and friends.

After this, and as the exact antithesis of both this loving, heart-to-heart, and almost somber mood, Ling speaks. He clears his throat, clearly ready to say something very, very, very serious. Then, without missing a beat, and with the same polite smile on his face, he quite succinctly says, “Edward Elric fed me a shoe.” Then, he sits, much to the stunned confusion of the crowd.

The final person to speak, as chosen by the bride and groom, is the maid of honor, none other than Riza Hawkeye. A hush falls over the crowd, and all wait, eyes wide, to hear the reserved and mysterious woman's speech. She locks gazes with Winry, offers a small smile, and says, much like Ling, very little. (In her defense, at least her speech makes sense.) “Congratulations on your wedding. Winry, don't let Ed spend all the wedding money at once.”

After this, the floor is opened for additional statements. A few others come up to give their own short speeches. Armstrong, as always, gives a hammy, tear-filled rant about love, which is ended when his sister drags him away from the podium. Ross and Brosh offer a few words, as does Gracia.

Then, just before the podium closes, Ed hears heavy footsteps behind him. He turns, only to find himself face-to-face with a squatting, scowling Scar. “Oh. Hey. Uh...?”

“Congratulations on your marriage, but, also, fuck you for puking on me.” A large hand pats Ed's shoulder, and the tattooed man wanders off, once again disappearing into the crowd.

 

**8:00 PM**

After dinner is concluded, the dances begin. Roy Mustang, acting as Winry's father, dances with her. Despite his hesitancy, Riza happily accepts Ed's request for her to be the mother half of the mother-son dance. An additional special dance, which devolves into an uncoordinated stumbling match, is done between the two brothers. And, as a bit of a tongue-in-cheek joke, Al also gets his own dance with Winry. Then, as the clock strikes eight, the floor is opened to everyone.

While Winry mingles and socializes with the crowd, Ed follows in his father's footsteps. He wanders off, finds Pinako, and sits beside her. The two share some of Mustang's gifted moonshine and share a few drinks. By the time they're done, sharing memories of a time long since passed and, for many younger than even Ed, forgotten, Winry is beckoning her husband to come cut the cake.

It is, in all honesty, the most expensive thing at the wedding. It was donated by Ling, who preemptively gifted it as an apology for what he promised to be the world's shittiest and most incoherent best-man-who-isn't-my-little-brother speech. (And, yes, Edward Elric made ‘best-man-who-isn't-my-little-brother’ an official position in his wedding party.) It is the epitome of excess. At almost three feet tall, it towers over the bride and groom before the cutting. In fact, it takes three people—both Armstrongs  _and_ Mustang—to lift the gold leaf covered cake off of the table and onto a stool, from which two slices of the top tier are finally cut.

As both the bride and groom share a loving moment, gazing silently into one another's eyes, Ed opens his stupid, tipsy mouth. “Winry, your eyes are like beautiful blue.... uuuuh...” he freezes. His mind scrambles and, after a moment of awkward silence, he sputters forth, ”Ganderbulbs.”

Winry snickers. “Just eat this cake, you dork,” Winry responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, you can catch me at [my blog](godtiermeme.tumblr.com) or [my art blog](tt40art.tumblr.com). UwU


End file.
